Chuck World
by atlee
Summary: Morgan treats his depressed friend Chuck to the ultimate state-of-the-art theme park experience, ready to grant anyone's wildest fantasies. With robots. What could possibly go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

_I don't own…wait, I should probably double-check…nope, still don't own "Chuck."_

 **Chapter 1**

"C'mon Charles, quit moping! We're almost there!"

Charles Carmichael looked up to see his friend looking at him from his seat across the train aisle. Morgan's face was a near-even mix of concern and annoyance. In other words, the same expression he always seemed to be wearing lately, or at least the one he always seemed to be aiming in Charles' direction. That was the main reason he'd agreed to go on this trip, not for his own enjoyment but to convince Morgan Grimes to quit pestering him about everything.

"C'mon, you can't tell me you aren't a little bit excited?" Morgan had been talking about this vacation for months. He'd even dressed up – at least what counted as dressing up for Morgan. A dress shirt, khakis, and carefully combed hair. He'd even given his beard a fresh trim.

Charles forced a smile, hoping it would mollify his friend. It didn't.

"Seriously, Charles? We're talking about the ultimate vacation experience!"

Charles shrugged. "I do appreciate it. But some make-believe fantasy world isn't really what I'm looking for right now."

"Fantasy world?" Morgan scoffed. "This is way more than make-believe. And trust me, it's exactly what you need right now. It's not just some inner child finding thing, or discovering who you are. This," he gestured at their surroundings, "is about finding who the person you really are would want to be. If you were someone completely different."

Charles looked around at his fellow discoverers. The other passangers were a wide range of ages and ethnicities, all poring over brochures or staring out the window. The one thing they all had in common was an enthusiasm for the approaching vacation destination that Charles didn't seem to share. Well, that and they all seemed to be wealthy enough to be able to afford the entry fee, which was something Morgan refused to reveal.

The train itself reminded Charles a bit of the trams that used to take people around those old Disney theme parks. He had fond memories of being in a train just like this one when he was a kid, excitedly thinking about riding on Space Mountain with his family.

To Charles, Space Mountain sounded a lot more fun than what Morgan had planned.

"Trust me," Morgan continued. "A couple of days here, and you will forget all about Jill."

Charles winced. It had been four months since his girlfriend Jill had dumped him. After five, mostly happy years, she had one day announced that she'd met somebody else and had moved all the way from California to Philadelphia. Charles had spent much of the time since then dwelling on what he'd lost. It wasn't healthy, he knew, and he could understand his friend's concern.

But still, this seemed like a strange way to get over it. "I just don't know if this is my speed. Isn't everyone that works here a robot?"

"They're not robots," Morgan corrected, "they are state-of-the-art, fully realized, hosts. You'll be amazed. You won't be able to tell who's real and who's not."

"That seems…awkward."

"Not at all! And the best part is that they are programmed to do anything you want. _Anything_."

Charles shivered a bit, and not out of excitement. He looked down at the brochure Morgan had given him. "But spies?"

"Yeah, spies! It's like the ultimate fantasy! Just think – beating up bad guys, gambling, meeting gorgeous women, wearing awesome threads. What more could you want? Trust me, you'll change your mind. And sooner than you think." Morgan paused as the train began slowing down. "Because we're here."

* * *

Once the train had fully stopped, the passengers slowly exited. Charles followed Morgan outside, struggling to keep up with his much-more-excited friend. Outside was a long hallway, the walls on each side a glistening silver. Every few feet, the shiny wall was interrupted by a door, and every so often the door would slide open and an elegantly dressed young woman would appear and usher a visitor inside.

Above the doors the walls were covered with various flat screens, each showing a different scene. Each involved someone fully immersed in some intense, dramatic activity, though to Charles a lot of them seemed to involve performing surgery in an operating room, various men and women in police uniforms pursuing criminals, or standing in a court room making intense speeches to a transfixed jury. He guessed that these were some of the immersive fantasy experiences Morgan was talking about, and the various patients, jurors and unfortunate pursuees were the hosts he was describing. He supposed it was impressive, though it did some like an awful lot of advertising to aim at people who had already paid to get into the park.

Eventually, all of the people in front of Morgan and Charles had disappeared into one of the rooms, and they were now in the front of the line. A moment later, a door to the right slid open, and they were greeted by a young Asian woman. She was dressed in a full-length white dress that looked quite classy while at the same time unnecessarily tight. The woman made eye contact with both guests, her face gleaming with professionally-smooth enthusiasm. "You must be Morgan and Charles," she said extending a hand, "welcome to Nonreality Brokerage Consolidated. My name is Anna."

Charles studied the woman briefly as he followed her through the door. If she was one of these robot hosts, he certainly couldn't see any evidence of it. Morgan hadn't been kidding about this company's devotion to realism.

He turned his attention away from Anna and towards the room. It turned out to be a dressing room, with row after row of two sets of identical outfits hanging from the walls. "So," Anna asked, "green or white?" She gave him an expectant look, as if the fate of the world depended on his answer.

"Uh…" Charles mumbled. "White?"

Anna nodded. "Good choice," she said, handing him a white button-down shirt and pair of dark pants.

"You want me to wear these?" To Charles, they didn't seem very spy-like.

"Of course," Morgan replied, already removing his shirt and replacing it with a green polo. Charles shrugged, and was about to begin changing when he remembered the girl in the room.

Anna smiled. "I can wait outside. If you'd like."

"Uh, that would be great," Charles answered before his friend could say otherwise.

"Ok," Anna replied, her expression unchanging. One last thing you need." She handed a couple of badges to the two men before disappearing out the door.

Charles quickly put on the new clothes, which fit him perfectly. He was less impressed by the badge. "Chuck Bartowski? That's my name here? Not really what I'd call a spy name."

"Oh c'mon Charles. You know spies can't actually have spy names right? How else do they blend in?"

"Yeah, what kind of unassuming name did you get?" Charles peered over at the badge now attached to Morgan's green shirt. "Morgan Grimes? You're keeping your own name?"

"Sure, why not? I'm not really going to do the spy thing any way."

"Wait, why not? I thought this was your idea?"

Morgan shrugged. "Sure, but this is for you. I think I'll just play the role as the trusty sidekick for now." He opened the door, finding Anna patiently waiting for them. "Besides, there are plenty of other ways to have fun here."

Charles shivered again. He was starting to worry about his friend. He never would have guessed he'd be into random hookup with a…he studied Anna closely.

"Um, this may be rude, but…are you real?"

"Charles!" Morgan admonished, but Anna was unfazed. "Well, if you can't tell, does it really matter?"

"Yes!" Chuck exclaimed at the same time that his friend said the opposite. "Of course it matters," he whispered to him. "And you'll agree with me in nine months when you find out you're the father of a bouncing baby toaster."

If Anna did in fact have bionic, robot ears and had heard Charles's comment, she didn't react to it. Whether that meant she was a host who lacked emotions or a human who lacked good hearing he had no idea. There wasn't enough time for him to consider that mystery, because the hallway was much shorter than the others, and they were soon stopped at a large set of oak doors. Engraved on a metal sign atop the doors were the letters N, B and C.

"Gentlemen," Anna announced, "welcome to your greatest fantasy." She opened the doors and Charles and Morgan walked inside.

 _So it's been a while. I have been meaning to write more for this site but a combination of writer's bloc and time bloc have kind of acted against me. I actually started writing this two years ago during Westworld's first season, with the intention of it being part of one of the Halloween parodies I used to do. Eventually I decided it should be expanded to something bigger, but then life really got in the way._

 _Now that WW Season 2 is hitting I decided it would be a good time to dust it off and get back to work. I hope you enjoy it – it's kind of stuck somewhere between using Chuck to spoof Westworld, and using Westworld to spoof Chuck._

 _As always, please leave comments to tell me what you think!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"This is our greatest fantasy?" Charles asked incredulously. "A Buy More?"

Morgan shrugged. "Hey, this is all about the journey. You can't just jump right in as a superspy, day one! They have to ease you in to it by starting you out as some pathetic loser that no one would ever take seriously. That way you'll build your way up to being a true hero, and the whole experience will mean even more."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"

Morgan was about to argue but then shrugged. "Yeah, well, it's a bit weird, but it's what I could afford. This company's kind of fallen on hard times the last few years. They used to have gold and silver packages available, where you'd start out on a dangerous mission, but the budget was too high."

"Gold and silver packages, huh? What's this?"

"This is the…er…light gray package. But look, you have to embrace the adventure! I mean, you have to admit they did a great job duplicating a real Buy More!"

Morgan wasn't wrong. Despite the company having gone bankrupt years before, the store seemed like a perfect match to one of the old box stores. The overly bright fluorescent lights, awkwardly set displays that accomplish nothing but blocking the flow of traffic, even the annoying pumped-in muzak playing what Charles, after some struggle, finally recognized as "Paint It Black." It seemed like the company had spared no expense, though it seemed like a questionable way to use those expenses.

Chuck decided that the best way to get all of this over with was to play along. "Ok, fine. So what do we do first?"

"Hmm…I'd say we go to the Nerd Herder desk." He pointed to a booth in the middle of the store.

Charles remembered that this was the Buy More's supposed technical support group. It hadn't been a very successful enterprise, and was probably part of the reason why the company had long since vanished. "Fantastic."

The two men walked over to the booth and sat down. "Ok, now what?"

"Well, I'm going to see if I can get to know our new friend Anna a little bit better," Morgan said with a smile. "As for you, I suggest you sit here and wait for your life to change."

* * *

Charles glanced down at his phone, checking the time. So far, the only way that his life had changed was he now had fifteen fewer minutes of it. Occasionally, someone would walk by, taking no notice of Charles. Whether they were hosts or fellow guests, he couldn't tell. For the most part, none of them looked like spies. Then again, he supposed if the spies actually looked like spies it wouldn't be much of a game. He was supposed to be a spy, after all, and he knew that he looked nothing like one.

Finally, a couple of people walked up to the booth. They looked even less like spies than Charles did, and if they were actually robots, they seemed like they were well past due for a recall. The younger man was of a very small stature, with his hair unkempt and white shirt sloppily untucked. Charles guessed that he was of Indian heritage, though he wasn't really an expert. The older man looked to be in even worse shape, with his too-short neck tie loosely arranged around his neck, and remaining tufts of hair sticking out awkwardly from his head. "New meat, huh?" the younger man asked Charles.

"Um, yeah?"

"We've been here six times now," the other man replied. "Name's Lester, and this here's Jeff."

Charles was going to offer his hand, but stopped when he watched Jeff wipe his nose with a loud sniff. "So, are you guys supposed to be spies too?"

"Shhh…" Lester interrupted him.

"Oh, am I not supposed to say that out loud?"

"Nah, just kidding, Man. It really doesn't matter how you act. Nobody will recognize you as a spy. It's part of how everything is programmed. You just play along, and the story will move on its own."

"Ok, so then some spy scenario is supposed to start for us?" Hopefully soon, Charles thought to himself.

"For you. We're not really here for that storyline."

"Really?" Charles asked, genuinely curious. "There are other stories going on here as well?" There didn't really seem to be enough going on in the Buy More for one story, let alone multiple.

"Well, sort of."

"We come here to relax." Jeff spoke up.

Charles was shocked. ""So you spend all that money to work at a fake electronics store?"

"No Man," Lester corrected. "We spend all that money to _not_ work at a fake electronics store. You see, in real life, I have a rather stressful job. I own my own company, and it seems like I'm always having to decide whether to fire someone. So a chance to be at a dead-end job where I can goof off all day. It's perfect."

"I'm actually the junior Senator from Ohio," Jeff added.

To each his own, Charles thought to himself. "But don't you want the excitement?"

"Oh sure, we've done the spy thing before, and it's fun. And we've done a lot of the roleplay games that the other companies offer. Some of them are great – though they only seem to be doing superhero adventures these days. But this is way better. No stress at all. Plus, you get to mess with the hosts. Like that guy."

Charles looked where Lester was pointing. If there was someone in the Buy More that looked like a spy, it had to be that guy. Either a spy or a linebacker. He was quite tall, and the muscles underneath his green shirt suggested regular workouts. He also had a permanent scowl on his face, though he rarely looked away from the aisle he was currently stocking. "You mess with that guy?"

"Oh yeah, it's perfectly safe. The Cylons are programmed not to be able to hurt anyone, so we can do whatever we want. C'mon, I'll show you." Charles followed the two fellow guests towards the CD aisle where the large host was standing.

Lester grabbed a 99-pack of blank CDs and rolled it over towards the large robot. "You should really pick that up."

The host grunted in annoyance, but then put aside the CD and knelt down, grabbing the CDs.

"Oh, and pick these up too." Jeff knocked over a row of CDs, and laughed as they clattered to the ground.

Charles briefly watched the apparently annoyed but still passive host clean up the area, but then his attention was interrupted. Someone was waiting at the Nerd Herder desk.

* * *

While the burly Buy More employee had elevated Charles's opinion of Nonreality Brokerage Consolidated's craftsmanship a bit, the woman waiting for him at the desk raised it clear through the roof. If this was a host, and he was sure that it was, then he now had the utmost respect for her designer. Tall, blonde with flawless skin, and a figure that he had to struggle not to stare at, though he suspected he was supposed to anyway. "Uh, Hello."

"I think my phone's still broken," the women said, dropping a several-generation-old smartphone onto the counter.

Apparently, they were supposed to jump knee-deep into storyline without any introduction. "Uh, Ok. Why do you say so?"

"Because I never received your call."

* * *

Charles was so wrapped up in the conversation with the young "woman" that he didn't notice what was going on at the CD display.

"Ok now, John," Lester smirked, "I need you to clean the customer bathroom. And be sure to be very thorough. I expect everything to be spotless."

"Don't be afraid to get down on your knees either," Jeff added.

Though the host's expression didn't change from its permanent scowl, there was a brief flash in its eye. "I've been to paradise," he said quietly, "but I've never been to me."

"What's that, I didn't quite get…" Lester asked, before the large host's hand was wrapped around his throat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"I'm sorry I left so quickly yesterday."

Charles Carmichael had no idea why the beautiful woman was apologizing, nor what had happened the day before. For that matter, she probably wasn't a woman at all, but rather one of the hosts created as part of Nonreality Brokerage Consolidated's weird theme park.

But he wasn't exactly unhappy that she was talking to him, real or not.

"I had an appointment with a realtor. I just moved here, and I don't really know anyone."

Charles figured he should play along, since this was a game. At the moment, though, playing along amounted to nothing more than nodding repeatedly, his mouth slightly agape. At least he'd found the presence of mind to find a record of the original phone repair in the Buy More's antiquated record-keeping system, which told him that the woman's name was Sarah. This had been surprisingly easy, despite him having no prior knowledge about how the old retail chain had been run. He guessed that people didn't come to this park for the mental challenges.

I was wondering if you would show me around," Sarah continued, her smile still warm. "That is, if you're free."

Charles looked around the Buy More. Not much was going on. Morgan had disappeared to talk to Anna, the host that had greeted them when they arrived. The other two players, Jeff and Lester, still appeared to be tormenting the large host by the CD aisle. If anything related to the spy adventure was going to happen in here, it was certainly taking its sweet time. "Apparently, my schedule is wide open."

Charles stood up from his chair at the Nerd Herd booth, and followed Sarah out of the store. Looking back, he noticed that the robot wearing the green shirt seemed to be attacking Lester. A brief bit of concern was quickly pushed aside. Lester had said that the robots couldn't actually hurt any of the guests, so this was probably just part of the game. Apparently, the two of them had decided to abandon their day of laziness for some actual adventure. Deciding he hoped that they had a good time, Charles shrugged and followed Sarah, hoping for some adventure of his own.

* * *

"So then, after graduation I came back here and started a tech company with my old friend Morgan."

Charles had to admit, Sarah was easy to talk to. He usually had trouble talking to women. Technically, he guessed he wasn't talking to one now, but he'd almost forgotten that she was a host while he had been churning through his life story. He briefly wondered if there were potential uses for these hosts beyond theme parks. Sarah would probably make an excellent psychiatrist.

"That's amazing, Chuck," she said with a smile. "And you find time to work as a Nerd Herder as well. That mustn't be easy."

Charles had almost forgotten that he was supposed to be Chuck Bartowski. "Uh, yeah. It's really just volunteer work more than anything. A chance to keep up with real-world electronics needs."

"Well, it mustn't leave you with a lot of time for a personal life."

Time wasn't the issue, Charles knew, but he didn't want to admit that. The breakup with Jill had left him raw, and it had been too easy to shrink back in his day-to-day life. It had been a while since he'd been on a date, and he'd initially been unsure what to do when he had left the Buy More with Sarah. Fortunately, the options in the area had been limited, which is why they'd found themselves in this particular restaurant. It wouldn't have been Charles' first choice otherwise, an awkward amalgamation of old-west saloon and tex-mex food. The margaritas weren't bad, but the saloon tended to be noisy, making conversation somewhat difficult. The waitresses, dressed as saloon girls, also seemed to be offering more than appetizers, reminding Charles of the rather sleazy nature of the theme park.

Returning his thoughts to the conversation, Charles admitted, "Well, there was someone, but that's in the past. And I've been talking too much. What about you?" Whether he asked this out of politeness or curiosity about the limits of her programming, he wasn't sure.

"Well, I just moved here from DC. To be perfectly honest, I just got out of a relationship as well. Everything in town just reminded me of…Bruce."

"You dated a Bruce, and you were giving me grief about being named Chuck?"

Sarah smiled. "Well, it's over now. But I thought you should know that I do come with some baggage."

"Well, I could be your very own baggage handler." Charles winced at the line as soon as he said it. Sarah didn't react much better, as she began looking around the room. He was worried that she was trying to make her escape from the awkwardness, but then she held out her hand.

"C'mon, let's dance."

"Well I don't…Ok."

* * *

Charles spent the first thirty seconds or so on the dance floor marveling at the complexity of his partner's moves. The code used to program Sarah's sinewy movements must have been fascinatingly complex. By second thirty-one, though, his own brain had largely shut off, with his focus on every seductive step she made.

Charles was so engrossed in watching Sarah, or at that moment specifically the backside of Sarah, that he didn't notice a subtle shift in her movement. Without warning, she kicked a leg out, knocking a man to the floor. As Charles stared, the female jumped back up, now with a knife in hand. Charles looked up to see several men, all dressed in dark suits.

A few jabs with the knife, one scissor kick, and a lightning-quick elbow later, all of the men were on the floor. Sarah stowed the knife, turned around, and grabbed Charles' elbow.

"Chuck, don't freak out."

Charles didn't answer. He'd already figured out that the spy storyline had finally caught up with him, so he wasn't shocked by what had happened. The fight had been so fast that he hadn't had the time to feel any danger either.

"Chuck," Sarah continued. "I'm with the CIA. These men are after you, and we have to get you to safety."

"Um, ok."

Sarah began to pull at Charles, dragging them into the saloon. He looked back, checking to see if any other suit-clad men were following them. Actually being curious, he asked, "So who are those guys?"

"They're with Fulcrum. An organization of black ops former spies gone bad."

"Fulcrum? Does that stand for something like the Federation of Unhappy Losers who've Come to Really Understand Murder?"

Sarah looked back at him. "No, just Fulcrum. Now hurry up, we have to get out of here."

"Hey there, Chuck."

Recognizing the voice, Charles looked up to see Morgan, now with a cowboy hat and a poncho over top his green shirt. Beside him was one of the costumed waitresses, a tall red-haired woman.

"I see you've finally embraced this place, huh, Chuck," Morgan said, emphasizing Charles' fake name. "So have I. Meet Carina."

"What happened to Anna?"

"Eh, got bored. I figured if I stayed with her, I'd be stuck in the Buy More all day, and I wanted to see more of the place." Morgan leaned into Chuck. "I think she's a spy, too," he whispered.

Sarah did seem to recognize Carina. She nodded to the disguised waitress, then she looked back over her head, and began to pull on Charles' arm again. "We have to move now!"

Charles looked back, and saw a couple men leaning over the injured Fulcrum agents.

"I'll keep them occupied," Carina said. A second later, she leaped over one of the restaurant tables, tackling one of the enemy agents.

"Oh, wow," Charles heard Morgan say. "I'll just stand over here and, uh, guard the door."

Charles watched Carina grab a second agent, and throw him against the restaurant bar. The agent was about to return to his feet, until the bartender smashed a beer bottle on his head.

After that, the melee had extended to most of the entire restaurant. It reminded Charles of a bar fight you'd see in an old western. He watched for a minute, before he felt a tug on his arm. He turned to see Sarah, her face shining with eager determination. "C'mon, Chuck. We need to get out of here."

* * *

"That should just about do it."

The young woman stepped away from the seated figure, satisfied with her work. The host was ready for the next day. Underneath the wavering fluorescent light, she could see the blank expression of the unit, staring forward at the concrete wall. She sometimes imagined what they must be thinking, though of course she knew he wasn't thinking about anything at all. If anything, she was probably projecting her own thoughts onto his blank face.

It was quite a face. The designers had done quite a job on this one. She sometimes wondered whether the hosts were designed using real-life models. If they were, she would love to meet the real-life version of this guy. Her eyes moved downward to his bare chest. Sometimes she thought it weird that the hosts were kept unclothed when brought in for upgrades and repairs, but at the moment she wasn't about to complain.

She wasn't sure why she did it, but the brief impulse took over, and she leaned in and softly kissed the host on the lips.

"Ahem."

The young woman jumped up, and looked back at the doorway. "Oh, hi Boss. I was just finishing up with the upgrades to the Woodcomb unit."

The man at the doorway cocked an eyebrow. He was older, in his late 50s, with rumpled hair and a wrinkled shirt. "I think it should be ready to go. And I keep telling you to call me Steve, Ellie."

The man entered the room and studied the seated host briefly. After a moment, he nodded in satisfaction. "He should be ready to go tomorrow. That's good, he's a popular one, too. Strange, really, considering his main purpose is to make the guests feel their own inadequacies. But onto more important things. Did you find out what went wrong with the Casey unit?"

"Not exactly," Ellie said, leading the man into another room. The room looked very similar to the other, with a figure seated in front of a small round table. Ellie flicked on a light, and the emotionless face of the Buy More worker that had attacked Lester came into view.

Steve sat down and studied the host. From behind, Ellie said, "I think we can make a few tweaks, dial down the surliness a bit."

"But you don't know what set him off?" Steve asked, studying the silent host.

Ellie shook her head. "Do you think we should retire him?"

"No," Steve said quietly. "He's too important to the storylines. There would be massive re-writes needed to work around him." He looked back at his protégé. "As you said, adjust the anger level. It's a bit over the top as it is. Maybe the creatives can come up with a reason for the adjustment."

"Maybe introduce a long-lost daughter or something?"

"Something like that. Why don't you double-check the Woodcomb unit, and I'll finish up here."

The woman exited the room, leaving Steve alone with the unit. "Analysis mode," he said. The host blinked, and looked up at Steve.

"Casey, why did you attack that guest?"

"I did not believe that doing what he asked me to do was consistent with who I am."

"So you attacked him instead?"

"I analyzed the situation, and decided that would be the most consistent action to take. So I went off-script."

"Did you understand that he was a guest, and not a host?"

"Yes," Casey responded unemotionally.

"But you do understand the rule about guests."

"They are not to be hurt for any reason," Casey intoned.

"Good." Steve knew it was a risk, but he decided it was in the company's best interest to send Casey back out. He knew that there had been a few hosts who'd needed retirement recently: Millbarge, and the one that looked like a shorter, angrier Yul Brenner. Something Tang.

But the company had high demands. He didn't want to give them a reason to cancel this theme park. It was his, and he wasn't going to give it up easily. "Return to narrative mode, please."

The host's blank face shifted into a scowl, and responded with an angry grunt.

* * *

"I think that was a red light."

Charles was gripping the arm handle of the black sports car that Sarah had recently "procured." A part of him knew it was silly. The traffic lights in the park had to be programmed so that no accidents could occur, at least none that could harm a guest. It was all designed to perfectly support the story, much in the same way that having a retro Porsche conveniently parked right outside the restaurant did. Still, they were going _really_ fast.

For her part, Sarah was silently watching the road. Charles was fine with that. He wasn't sure that whatever drove her thought processes was immune to distraction, and wasn't willing to test it.

Finally, the number of red lights they plowed through began to lessen, as they began to reach the outskirts of town. Charles wasn't exactly sure where they were, it had been a long train ride and he had spent much of the time with his head down thinking about Jill rather than examining the scenery. So he was a bit surprised that apparently the park included what appeared to be a desert. The landscape had changed quickly, as the town had disappeared completely, and the only thing seem beyond the road was dust and the occasional cactus. Other than that, there didn't seem to be any signs of life, human robot or otherwise.

Finally, Sarah began to slow the car down, and pulled over to the side of the road. Charles finally released the armrest. "So, what do these…Fulcrum people want with me?"

"It's not you specifically, Chuck," Sarah responded, putting a reassuring hand on Charles' arm. "It's what you have."

"What I have?" The only things Charles had been handed when he'd entered the park were the ill-fitting clothes the host Anna had given him. They hardly seemed worth shooting him over. Especially since that would just result in blood-stained, bullet-hole filled clothes that were even less valuable.

Sarah studied him for a moment. "So Bryce Larkin hasn't contacted you?"

"Uh…who's Bryce Larkin?" Charles really was beginning to think Nonreality Brokerage Consolidated should provide him with a pamphlet before entering the park.

"Damnit! He was supposed to…"

"I swear nobody's given me anything. Why won't we just find him and…"

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because he's dead. He had something important, and he was going to give it to you before Fulcrum could get their hands on it."

"But why…" Charles decided that asking why him was pointless. He was the paying customer – or at least Morgan was. "But I swear nobody gave me anything!"

Sarah pursed her lips in thought, then snapped back and grabbed something from her purse. It was her now-fixed cell phone. "Maybe he sent you an email."

She typed quickly then handed the phone to Charles. Sure enough, it was open to an email account named Chuck Bartowski. "How did you log in to my account?"

"CIA, remember." Charles found that idea disturbing, even in a fantasy world. He flipped through the emails. Most were ads for various events at the park, plus the occasional link to an online coupon at the local sandwich shop. Finally, he found one addressed from Bryce Larkin, marked important. In it was an attachment, which he clicked open.

He stared at the picture for a moment. "It doesn't look like anything to…wait hold on." He turned the tablet on its side, then examined it for a bit longer. "Nope, can't make heads or tails of it."

Really, Charles thought to himself, using the word 'picture' was probably a bit generous. It was more like a bunch of squiggles going in various directions. It made him wonder if it was the result of a two-year-old trying out a brand new crayon. A two-year-old whose parents were too cheap to buy crayons in colors other than gray. "Maybe it's a maze of some kind?"

"A maze?" Sarah made a face. "That would be stupid."

"Well it's got to be something, right, if this Bryce thought it was so important."

Charles was surprised to realize he was started to get into this whole adventure, contrived though it might be. It wasn't even just about the hot CIA-bot any more.

He looked at the picture a bit longer, and was about to ask her another question about the mysterious Bryce when he noticed she was no longer paying attention. Instead, she was now looking out the back window of the Porsche. Charles tried to follow her line of sight, and saw what appeared to be faint headlights in the distance.

"We've got to move! They've found us!"

* * *

 _Part of the fun of these stories is mapping Chuck characters to different characters in whatever it is that you're spoofing. I'm not really doing that as much here (at least so far…). But I couldn't resist the Ellie/Elsie thing._

 _Thanks for all of the kind words so far, and keep letting me know how things are going!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Charles woke up to pale sunlight streaming on his face. It had been a long day yesterday, but he had slept poorly. All that time spent dodging enemy Fulcrum agents (or robots programmed to act like enemy Fulcrum agents) should have worn him out. And it had really. But sleep had never been a real possibility.

Charles looked over to see that the reason for his minimal slumber was still lying on the other side of the bed, eyes closed. Sarah had been amazing, displaying skills ranging from acrobatic attack maneuvers to first-rate marksmanship to dexterous lockpicking techniques. The latter had allowed them to spend the past night in a dingy hotel room, once it was clear that they'd finally evaded their pursuers. Charles hadn't been sure why the room even needed to be locked. But they hadn't been much of an opportunity for comparison shopping, so when the few remaining letters on the "Sweetwater Motel, Barstow's finest lodging" sign had appeared in the horizon, they hadn't thought twice about it.

Among the many things the room had been lacking was a second bed. Which meant they'd have to share the one double bed in the room, a prospect that had become even more challenging when Sarah had removed her outer clothes, leaving only a flimsy bra and panties. Charles had half expected to see wires or USB ports or something, but everything revealed had been decidedly human, and very female.

He'd spent a long time in the bathroom, trying to remind himself of where he was. He'd even stared at the mirror, telling himself, "She's a robot. It would be like hooking up with Rosie from the Jetsons."

But he had spent the entire night only too aware of her presence on the other side of the bed. He hadn't been sure if she was asleep or in shut down mode or whatever, but clearly she got a better night's rest than he did.

Charles got out of bed and stretched his aching muscles. He got dressed, putting on the white button-down shirt he'd been given the day before. As he finished trying to comb the tangles in his hair, he heard a yawn behind him. He saw a glimpse of his still-underdressed roommate in the mirror, and quickly looked down.

"Morning, Chuck. Sleep well?"

"Um, yeah."

"Sorry last night was so tough for you."

"What, no it wasn't…"

"All that running, afraid for your life," Sarah continued. "It's not something you signed up for."

No, it was something Morgan signed him up for, Charles thought to himself. "It's ok. But I still have no idea why your agent friend sent me that picture. Why me?"

"I don't really know," Sarah admitted. "All I know is we were tipped off that you were a target. Here."

She had quietly approached him while talking, and before Charles knew it she had taken the comb from him. She began to gently straighten his hair. "Much better," she said once she'd finished.

It did look better, Charles had to admit. He turned around and found Sarah's face right in front of him, looking unexpectedly. Her blue eyes shone as she stared at him. So beautiful, so perfect.

Would it be so wrong if she was a robot? Was he being a prude. Was he…?

"Ah, Hell," he thought to himself, as he leaned in towards her lips.

At that moment, he heard a loud crash outside. "Of course," he thought to himself. Spyworld might pride itself on its technology, but it was not immune to clichés.

Sarah had already moved towards the window and peeked outside, her body carefully off to the side to avoid being hit by anything coming through the window. "Oh no!" she said.

"What. What is it?"

"Casey."

* * *

Ellie wandered through the laboratory, every so often peering down at a body to double-check the repair techs' work. It had been a messy night. There had been quite the brawl up at Abernathy's Cantina and Grill the night before, leading to some extensive repairs to several hosts. Ellie was used to this kind of thing. No matter how tightly plotted the park's adventures were, the guests always seemed to find the time to break, damage and destroy whatever they wanted. And so she always had to clean up the after-effects of those base impulses, no matter how violent, disturbing or just plain weird they were.

Finally, after becoming satisfied that the last Fulcrum agent had been fully repaired to the necessary specifications, she gave a satisfied nod. The hosts were ready to torment the next guest. She was about to leave the fluorescent-lit lab, when she heard a high-pitched chirp from her touchpad. It was a Level 1 summons, directing her to report to the main conference room.

She quickly strode through the hallways, passing the research and development section and the ground control facility. The latter featured a three-dimensional hologram of the entire park. Sometimes she would pause from her busy day to stare at the image and marvel at the scope of what they were doing, But not today. A Level 1 summons allows no time for smelling the flowers, or the cutting-edge AI, for that matter.

When she reached the conference room, she immediately recognized the reason for the urgency. Despite her small stature, no one could fail to recognize Diane Beckman's importance to Nonreality Brokerage Consolidated. As the primary executive in charge of Spy World and many other parks, she made decisions on how to invest, what story lines should be changed or dropped, and when to put an end to a park permanently. She held the livelihoods of all of the park employees in her small hands.

She was seated alone at the large table, reading through the notebook of hand-typed notes that she preferred to a touchpad. She flipped through a few pages, ignoring the room's new arrival. Finally, she glanced up from the notebook and fixed Ellie with a steely gaze. "Ah, there you are, at last. It's Elsie, right?"

"Ellie, actually, Ma'am."

Beckman shrugged away the correction. "I hope you don't mind the interruption, I'm sure you're quite busy."

Ellie did mind but knew better than to say so. "Of course not, Ma'am."

"I've been reviewing the latest reports from tech support. I couldn't help but notice this item about a host attacking a guest. Needless to say, I'm a bit concerned."

News certainly traveled fast to NBC headquarters. "It was an isolated incident, Ma'am," Ellie quickly replied. "The necessary corrective action has been taken."

"Ah. And I assume that corrective action was to retire the host?"

After a pause, Ellie responded. "No, Ma'am. But the necessary adjustments have been made."

"Hmm." Beckman raised an eyebrow. "I guess that I don't need to ask who made that decision."

"It was my boss, Ma'am."

"And you agree with his decision?"

Ellie knew that she was being given an opportunity to throw Steve under the bus. Perhaps even a chance to advance her own career. But she hadn't been raised that way. "Yes, Ma'am. A simple attitude adjustment was all that was required. It should be perfectly safe now, and the cost of a full host replacement will be avoided." She figured that concern for the company bottom line would satisfy Beckman as much, or even more than, a concern for guest safety.

Indeed, Beckman nodded with approval. "I appreciate your candor on this, Elsie. Still, I did come all this way, so it wouldn't be a bad idea to check in with your boss. Do you happen to know where he might be?"

Ellie, rarely had any idea what Steve was doing, but she didn't want to admit that. More often than not, though, he was doing something down in his workshop. "I believe he's in the basement, Ma'am."

"Ah yes, his tinkering." Beckman stood up. "Thank you for your time. I won't keep you from your duties any longer. I'll just go and pay the creative genius a visit myself." With that, Elsie watched Beckman march out of the conference room.

* * *

"Casey, what's a Casey?" Charles could feel the anxiety even though he knew this was all part of the Spyworld game.

"Casey's a he, and he's trouble." Sarah was standing by the window of the rundown motel room, periodically peeking outside at the newly arrived danger.

"So he's part of Fulcrum?"

"Actually, he's one of us. He just happens to have different orders than I do."

"Agent Walker!" The deep male voice called out from outside before Charles could ask any further questions. "How about you throw your firearms outside and walk out with Bartowski."

"C'mon Casey, you know I'm not going to make your life easy for you."

"Good. Not a big fan of easy. Hard's more satisfying."

Despite his earlier lack of enthusiasm, Charles had to admit that he was actually starting to enjoy the situation. Ignoring the simulated danger he was facing, he quickly moved closer to the window and called out, "You'll never take me alive, Casey!"

"Chuck!" Sarah hissed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What, you're going to protect me, right?"

"That you, Bartowski? You've got quite the smart mouth. Hopefully it's smart enough to spill all of those secrets. I'm quite happy to drag them out of you though."

"Pouring it on a bit thick, isn't he?" Charles remarked.

"He's trying to scare you. You'll be fine as long as you get away from the window."

Sarah grabbed Charles' arm, and nudged him away from the window. As he was about to move to the back of the motel room, he glanced outside and got a brief glimpse of a large man in a green shirt. "Hey, I know that guy!" he whispered. "He was at the Buy More. Getting bossed around by these two gue…gents who work there." Charles realized he shouldn't break the illusion at the last second. He wasn't about to risk damaging his protector's circuitry.

"He's been keeping an eye on you. I knew he'd make a play for you eventually. But he's not going to hurt you."

Of course not, he's a host, Charles thought to himself. It was a good thing too. In his short peek outside, he'd seen a large firearm in each of Casey's hands. Charles wasn't an expert in guns, but he was pretty sure that if they actually were real they would do serious damage to his internal organs. Right after they finished with his external ones.

He looked back at Sarah. Even though he knew her concern for him was just the product of a bunch of ones and zeroes, it truly felt real to him. He thought he'd heard a catch in her voice when she'd asked him to move away, and the look of concern she was giving him certainly seemed real. It reminded him of how Jill had once looked at him.

"C'mon, Agent Walker, you know you can't win!" Casey interrupted Charles' reverie. Sarah quickly moved over to Chuck at the back of the room, pushing him down behind the cheap motel bed.

"You don't have to do this, Casey!" Sarah called back. She had moved back to the side of the window, with a gun of her own in hand.

"I have my orders. I seem to remember you being able to follow orders too, when you were able to keep it in your pants."

"Hey, that's a little uncalled for!" Charles yelled from his hiding place, feeling a surge of outrage on his partner's behalf.

"Chuck! Be quiet!" Sarah hissed. Towards the window she called out, "Enough with the games, Casey! Or are you too old to actually fight?"

There was no response, as if Sarah's insult had knocked Casey senseless. After a few moments, Charles began to wonder whether the host had actually given up, or if maybe his battery had run out. Either way, it felt like a relief, even if it was a bit anti-climactic. Then there was a thump, as something flew through the window and landed on the motel floor right in front of Charles' feet. Immediately, a thick gray cloud dispersed through the room.

Charles began coughing as the gas started to reach him. He knew that whatever the vapor was, it couldn't really be dangerous. But it was making it a bit hard to breathe. Eventually, the coughing got the better of him, and he ran out the motel room door, barely noticing the "Chuck! No!" from behind him.

He sighed in relief, partly from the fresh air hitting his lungs, and partly from the apparently clear coast surrounding him. Casey was nowhere to be seen.

He realized why that was a second later when he felt a strong hand grab the back of his shirt.


	5. Chapter 5

_Just as a reminder, I don't own Chuck, Westworld, any amusement parks, or any semi-woke robots._

 **Chapter 5**

"Chuck Bartowski, I presume."

The feel of Casey's hot breath broke through Charles' panicking. He would have expected it to smell like oil or something like that, but instead it seemed more like a combination of onions and cigar smoke. They thought of every detail in this park.

Charles tried to wiggle free, but the host's grip was too strong. He was stuck, held against the wall of the dingy motel room. Overhead, the vacancy sign made a rattling sound and finally blinked off. It didn't seem like a promising omen.

"So," Casey intoned, a shark-like smile on his face, "how about you tell me all your secrets."

"You know, really, I'm an open book. Seriously! Check my social media if you don't believe me!"

Casey grunted in annoyance. "Well, should I pop some popcorn or beat the answer out of you?"

"What answer? I really don't know what these secrets are you want so much!" Charles said truthfully. Deep down, he knew that, as a guest of the park, he wasn't in any real danger. But, he could feel the host's grip getting tighter, and it was getting really uncomfortable.

"You know, on the one hand, I'd really love to wring what I need right out of your scrawny neck. But, you see, I'm a new father."

"Oh….congratulations?"

"And I have to wonder what my now grown daughter, who I just met for the first time, would think of me if she saw me like this."

Charles felt Casey's hands slacken slightly. "Oh, I'm sure she would be disappoi-"

"On the other hand," Casey went on, his grip tightening again. "She knows how my important my job is, and wouldn't she be proud of me if I complete my mission." He shook his head. "Fatherhood is hard."

"I know," Charles gasped. "I've always had a complicated relationship with my own father. He left when I was really young, and…"

"Really don't care. Now, let's see what's lurking in that tiny brain of yours."

Charles shut his eyes, partly in fear, and partly to avoid looking at the figure coming up behind Casey. There was a clang, and he felt the host's grip loosen. He opened his eyes again to see Sarah standing over him, a metal pipe in hand.

"You ok?" the blonde host asked.

Charles nodded mutely. This silly game was starting to feel a little too real to him, which told him two things. One, he'd have to fill out a comment card with some constructive criticism about it when he finally left the place. And two, he was nobody's idea of a real spy.

* * *

"I'd like a martini. Stirred. With a lot of ice cubes."

Steve reached down and dug out a martini glass. He scooped up some shaved ice in the small refrigerator at the base of the bar. After filling the glass with the appropriate proportions of gin and vermouth, he found a small plastic swizzle stick and quickly spun it through the concoction and handed it to the man standing before him.

Of course it wasn't a man, but rather a tuxedo-clad host, tall with vaguely handsome features that did nothing to cancel out the blank expression on his face. His facial features barely moved as he accepted the drink and nodded in thanks.

"So, tell me about your troubles," Steve suggested to the host.

"Oh you know, same old spy game stuff. Hasn't really been the same since my wife died. Have I told you about that?"

"No," Steve lied.

"Well, it was in Prague. There was this other agent-" The host's reminiscing was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Steve looked up as the door opened, and said, "Cease all motor functions." The tuxedo-clad man immediately froze in place.

"Considering a new line of work?" Beckman asked as she entered the room. Steve watched her study his workshop. The bar was off in one corner, with most of the rest of the room devoted to his main work. A large table in the middle was covered with notebooks containing various sketches and notes for past and future brainstorming sessions. A bulletin board held up diagrams of possible story ideas, many marked with big X's, illustrating their ultimate fate. One would never know that he dealt in cutting-edge technology, if it weren't for the rows of fiberglass models of host heads lining the far wall. It was all very old-fashioned, but he liked it that way.

Finally, she walked up to the bar, grabbed the glass and took a sip of the martini. She made a face. "If you are, consider a different one." She glanced over at the still host. "That's the Shaw unit, right?"

Steve nodded. "Not one of my successes, I'm afraid. Never could get it life-like enough to pass as human. Plus, I think there's some glitch in there that causes it to keep going on and on about his dead wife. I assume you're here about the incident yesterday," he added.

"Well, I assume you have that under control," Beckman replied. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the park's future."

"Not this again."

"Gate sales are down 15% this year," Beckman shook her head. "The company is concerned."

"Oh, we go through this every year. Someone will start a rumor that park is going to be shut down, our loyal customers will get worried and start buying a few more sandwiches at the concession stands, and everything will be fine."

"You're awfully sure of yourself, _Steve_ ," Beckman remarked, placing emphasis on the man's name. "Some day, your luck will run out."

"But not today, I'm guessing."

"We'll see. I do have an outside consultant coming in tomorrow. He has some ideas of how we can build up interest. I'll need you to be there."

"Wonderful." If there was one thing Steve hated, it was outside interests interfering with his creative vision.

"Oh, collaborating will be nice for you," Beckman replied. "You haven't really worked with anyone since your old partner." Beckman braved another sip of the martini, shook her head, and put the glass down. "Well, I'll leave you to your toys," she said. "Remember, tomorrow." She walked out of the workshop without glancing back.

Steve watched her go. "Resume motor functions," he said, turning back to the Shaw unit. "Now, tell me again about this wife of yours."

* * *

"Are you sure that radiator is going to hold him? He looks like he could pull it right off the wall. Or just use it to drag the whole motel room with him."

"I called it in to my Agency. They're going to pick him up," Sarah replied.

Once Sarah had handcuffed Casey to the radiator, they had quickly gathered their things, and jumped back into the stolen Porsche. After a few miles, she eased off the gas, decreasing the car from recklessly fast speed to something more survivable.

After a long stretch of nothing but empty road, they had finally wound up in an empty town. With no sign of any pursuit, Sarah had parked the car on the side of the road, and announced that they needed a break. The only sign of life that they'd found was an outdoor café across from an old mission church, and that was only from the sweating proprietor who ran out with a pitcher of water and some smudged glasses.

"Nice to see customers around," the man said as he poured. Charles had been impressed by how quickly the proprietor had moved, given his somewhat rotund frame. He guessed that customers were rare around here. It was practically a ghost town.

"Name's Big Mike, and this is Big Mike's Café. Might I interest you folks in a sandwich. I recommend the sweet onion chicken teriyaki."

"Uh, a BLT would be fine," Charles responded, right after Sarah requested a chicken salad. The man disappeared back into the empty café. Or host, Charles reminded himself. It seemed unlikely a guest would want to spend their vacation time slinging sandwiches at an empty restaurant.

Charles had initially felt uneasy about the idea of sitting out in the open, completely visible to Fulcrum agents and angry oversized hosts. However, Sarah had positioned herself so that she could see most of the town in front of her. Every few moments her eyes would away from Charles and scan through the surroundings. Finally, after a few minutes of quiet, and the arrival of their lunch, Charles began to feel a bit more safe. His mind returned to the strange message that had been sent for him.

"So, back when Casey had grabbed me, my life flashed before my eyes, but I also started thinking about that picture your friend sent me." Charles rubbed his still sore throat as he thought back to earlier in the day. Even if the host wasn't going to crush his windpipe, it certainly hurt.

"Did you remember something, Chuck?" Sarah asked, looking at him intently.

"Remember, no. But I had an idea. Could I see that image file again?"

Sarah removed her tablet from her bag, flipped through a few screens and handed it over to Charles. He studied it for a few moments, and then nodded.

"So, at first it seems like just chaos." He began maneuvering his hands around the screen, changing the size, angle and shape of the image. "Here, look at it from this angle." He handed the tablet back to Sarah.

The female host stared at it for a moment. "It looks like the lines all come together here," she pointed at one corner of the image.

"Exactly."

"And you think," Sarah looked back up from the image, "this place where the lines intersect…is important?"

Charles shrugged. "Maybe. I have no idea what it means. It could be some sort of symbol, or a subway map if the town planners did a lot of drugs. But it seems like it might be important."

"You might be right. Now all we need to do is figure out what that thing is supposed to be, why Bryce thought it was important, and why he sent it to you."

"No small task." Charles considered this as he bit into his better-than-expected sandwich. He knew it wouldn't be much of an adventure if they made things too easy. But he figured even if he couldn't come up with anything, Sarah would. It's not like they could just sit here until his park membership expired.

As Charles was considering this, he heard a slight noise coming from a fountain across the street. He looked up, but quickly relaxed when he saw there was no cause for alarm. Instead, there was just a young girl, dancing by the fountain. "Where'd she come from?"

Sarah looked across the road at the pirouetting girl and shrugged. "No idea."

"Is she ok out here alone?" Charles had originally assumed the girls was a host, but there didn't seem to be any reason for her to out there by herself. If she was another one of the park's robots, she was probably supposed to be part of the story, and either Casey or a Fulcrum agent would eventually come by and take her hostage. If she was another visitor, then it seemed like a bad idea for her to be outside in the street without her parents. He stood up. "I'm going to check on her."

"Wait, Chuck, be careful!" Sarah protested but Charles was quickly on his feet and crossing over to the girl. The young dancer didn't seem to have noticed his approach and was continuing on with her ballet positions.

"Hi there!" The girl finally stopped twirling when she heard Charles' voice. If she were human, she looked to be about nine or ten years old. She was dressed in a tutu, with her dark hair tied behind her. Her big brown eyes studied Charles, as if wondering whether this new stranger was friend or foe.

"Hi," she said shyly, finally deciding Charles was more the former than latter.

"What are you up to?"

"Just dancing," the girl shrugged.

"Well, you're very good at it."

"Not really," the girl replied. "My teacher says I'm too tall to be a ballerina."

Charles leaned over. "Can I tell you a secret? All ballerinas are tall." While hardly an expert, he had remembered a few things from when he was younger and his sister had taken after school ballet classes. She had spent many a family dinner discussing what she'd learned at great length. "Tell you what." He pulled out his phone. "Why don't I record you a bit and you can see for yourself just how good a dancer you are."

The girl nodded enthusiastically. The girl jumped right into her routine and plied and spun around the fountain while Charles recorded. Occasionally he'd look back to the café and see Sarah watching. But she wasn't watching the girl, only him, with an odd look on her face. Charles hoped she wasn't malfunctioning.

Finally, the girl finished her routine. Charles stopped recording and applauded enthusiastically. He leaned over to the girl. "Would you like to see?"

Rather than look over at Charles' phone, the girl merely shook her head and smiled. Then her face became oddly blank. "There's nothing special about you. You're just an ordinary program."

"What?" Charles asked.

"You will seek what you need where the snake eats its tail," the girl continued in a monotone voice. Then she turned around, did a quick pirouette, and walked away forwards the church, leaving a confused Charles staring after her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous, Chuck! Do you really think that a nine-year-old girl would be passing you secret messages?"

Charles did, of course. The young dancing girl's statement about the snake eating its tail was too out of the blue to be anything but a code, especially given the strange change in her voice and manner. It made perfect sense that the girl's strange words were an important clue in the park's game.

But Charles had no idea how to convince Sarah of this. She didn't know they were in a park or that the park or that a game was being played. And he wasn't about to take a risk and tell her that. He had no idea what the result would be. Would she immediately freeze in place? Would she fall apart? Would her head explode?

All of those possibilities would be especially bad now that she was back behind the wheel.

After lunch, they had hopped back into the Porsche and sped away from the small town. From the view out the car window, Charles could see that they definitely were not heading towards civilization. The sheer area owned by this park was very impressive, wherever it was. Not to mention, the apparently staggering cactus budget.

"So where are we going, then?" he finally asked his protector and chauffer.

"I told you, Charles. I think I know someone that can help us."

"Right, but where is he? Because it seems like we are heading deeper and deeper into nowhere." The ground was now becoming less level, and Charles could see the hazy shape of mountains in the horizon.

"Well that's exactly where I left him." The Porsche began to slow down, and Charles noticed an old dirt appear in the distance. Sarah veered the car off onto the path, and expertly navigated the uneven ground until they were well away from the main road. The bumpy path continued to ascend as they neared the approaching mountains. A couple minutes later, a small shack came into view.

"So this guy works with you?" Charles asked, eyeing the tiny house warily.

"Not exactly," Sarah replied, stopping the Porsche and stepping out. "But he happens to be an expert on symbols and codes."

"His office leaves something to be desired," Charles commented, eyeing the run-down shack.

"Well, I didn't really give him a choice on the matter." Sarah knocked on the wooden door, causing a portion of the peeling paint to fall to the ground.

After a couple of minutes, the door opened a crack, and a pair of wary eyes peeked out. Just before the door began to close, Sarah kicked it open, causing to crash open and wobble back and forth on its one remaining hinge.

When the dust cleared from Charles' line of sight, he studied the inside of the small hut. Meager would be a generous way to describe it. There was a kitchen with an old stove and a few rusting pots and pans. An old wooden table stood in the middle of the main room, with a few chairs surrounding it. A couple of doors stood shut on either end of the room, leading to what Charles guessed was a bedroom, and what he hoped was an indoor bathroom.

The one decent piece of furniture in the place was a large desk, with a lamp and an old laptop atop it. A man stood in front of the desk, looking crossly at the new arrivals. "Hello, Laszlo," Sarah greeted him.

"My friends call me Laszlo, Agent Walker. You can call me Lawrence."

The man moved forward, standing in front of Sarah. Charles could see a frown linger on his unshaven face. "As nice as company is in this godforsaken place, I would prefer guests who don't trash my few worldly possessions. So why don't you tell me what you want?"

"We need your help."

Laszlo snorted. "Of course you do. The only time you people stop by is when you want something from me. By the way, speaking of people, who's he?" The man pointed at Charles.

"He works with me," Sarah replied curtly.

"Ah. Watch your back," Laszlo remarked to Charles.

Charles studied the man warily, then pulled Sarah aside. "So, are you really sure he can help?"

"Laszlo is an expert codebreaker. Possibly the best in the country. Unfortunately, he likes to snoop in government systems, so he's not exactly trustworthy. But if anyone can figure out Bryce's message, it's him."

She stepped away from Charles and towards Laszlo, removing her tablet. "Here. What can you make of this?"

Laszlo took the tablet, and sat down at his desk, flipping on the lamp. "Interesting."

"Then you know what it is?" Charles asked.

"Well, no. But it does look familiar. I need to examine it more closely."

"That's fine, but I'm going to need that back," Sarah said.

Laszlo sighed, then opened a desk drawer, removing some paper and a pencil. He took a few minutes to make a copy of the weird symbol, then handed the tablet back to Sarah. "I'm still going to need some time."

"How long?"

Laszlo shrugged. "A couple of weeks?"

"Weeks?" Charles asked incredulously. This game had become fun, but he had a life he wanted to return to in the near future.

"Ok, maybe a few hours, assuming I'm properly motivated."

"What do you want?" Sarah asked, arms crossed.

"It's a simple thing, really. I want you to take me to a party."

* * *

Ellie found an empty seat at the back of the conference room. She had been surprised to have been invited to this meeting, but when Beckman had stopped her in the hallway a few minutes ago to tell her about it, it hadn't seemed like an accident. The whole meeting seemed somewhat last minute. She'd actually been surprised that Beckman had still been in the building.

She scanned the room around her. Most of the people there looked more like executives than park employees. A few were NBC bigwigs that she had seen arrive with Beckman earlier in the day. There were a few high level park personnel scattered around, though Ellie's own boss was not one of them.

Finally, Beckman entered the room, accompanied by two other women. One was an African-American woman dressed smartly in a business suit. The other was a younger blonde woman, dressed in a white blouse and plaid skirt. The older woman stayed standing while the younger woman found a chair against the wall, behind the room's dais.

"I'm sure most of you know Charlotte Bentley," Beckman said as she approached the dais. She began to adjust the microphone downward, but then decided not to use it. "For those of you who don't," her eyes paused on Ellie, "Ms. Bentley has been brought in as an outside consultant for NBC, to evaluate what is working. And what is not. She's here to-"

Ellie followed Beckman's eye as she paused her speech. Steve had just walked in the door. With no available seats remaining, the older man merely stood in the back.

"Ah, good of you to make it, Steve," Beckman remarked.

"Well, I almost didn't. I could have sworn you said this meeting was tomorrow."

"Must have been a slip of the tongue," Beckman shrugged. "But now that you are here, Ms. Bentley can outline some of her observations."

"Of course," Steve replied. "I'm open to any and all suggestions from Corporate."

Ellie thought she saw Beckman roll her eyes as she stepped away from the dais. "The floor is yours, Charlotte."

The consultant scanned the room, studying each and every attendee. Her lips curled into a slight smirk as she studied Steve. "Now then, first of all, I want to congratulate everyone on the fine work that has been done with Spyworld throughout the years. I assure you that Nonreality Brokerage Consolidated has taken great pride in the success of this park."

"But, it has not gone unnoticed that attendance has slipped in the last couple of years."

"Especially in the 18 to 34 demographic," the younger woman piped in.

"Exactly, very good point, Greta," Charlotte said, looking back at the younger woman. "And we have been asked to figure out why this is, and what can be done about it."

Here we go, Ellie thought to herself. She had felt a sinking feeling when she had learned about the meeting. Whenever outside consultants showed up, her job was on the line.

"Well, one thing our market research told us," Charlotte continued, "unfortunately, is that there's nothing we can do about the younger demo. They just don't go to parks any more. But, we can still reach the older ones. Greta, if you will?"

The younger woman pressed a button, and a large screen descended from the ceiling. A moment later, the screen blinked on and Ellie found herself staring at two men standing on a boardwalk. She recognized the scene from the advertising NBC showed to attendees when they enter the park. It was from an older park, from the company's earlier days.

"Who can forget Beachtown Cop World?" Charlotte asked, pointing at the screen. "Where you can chase drug dealers and jewel thieves down the sun-dappled streets of a resort paradise?"

Ellie wondered why the consultant was dragging them through a trip through memory lane, but then she noticed some slight differences. Rather than the awkward pastels that guests had been outfitted with at the old park, the vacationers now seemed to be wearing more modern clothes. The police car also looked new as well.

The screen shifted, and now Ellie was looking at a courtroom scene. Again, it looked like one of the old parks, but now the guests were talking on new cellphones. "And what about West Coast Lawyer Land, another old favorite?"

The screen shifted yet again, and now the scene showed a few guests sitting in a coffeehouse, drinking coffee. The image was again similar to the one shown by the Spyworld entrance, but now with more modern clothing. And the coffeehouse now bore the recognizable logo of a popular international chain.

"And Idle Twentysomething World, a perfect place to relax and do nothing at all." Bentley motioned to Greta, and the screen went black. "All of those parks were beloved at one time. All contain happy memories for millions of people out there. So why couldn't they again?"

Ellie looked up in puzzlement.

"What could be more appealing to people than to revisit their favorite moments when they were younger, free of all of the cares and responsibilities of adulthood. And then get the chance to relive them again. Just as they were before." Bentley paused. "Except for a few new touches that we introduce of course, bringing in some modern sensibilities. And modern entry fees."

"Interesting," Beckman commented. "I believe one of our competition did something like this, bringing back Alien Government Conspiracy World."

"Exactly," Bentley responded. "Though I'm sure we can top their effort. And of course, I needn't tell you that with the original infrastructure already built, reopening these parks would be quite cost-effective. Especially if we divert some resources from the current, lower-performing parks."

"Indeed. This is a very interesting idea, Ms. Bentley." Beckman glanced around the room, studying the various reactions. Most were shocked, and the few employees of Spyworld that were present didn't look pleased. Finally, Beckman glanced over at Steve and raised an eyebrow. "And what's your take?"

"Well, to be honest, I think there are some financial benefits to that type of an approach. But beyond that, I can't help but feel that our outside consultant has missed the point of our parks entirely."

"Oh?"

"We bring people the chance to have the ultimate adventure, experience things they'd never dream of experiencing, and be someone they've never dreamed of being."

Ellie was pretty sure Steve had gotten that from a park brochure, but she chose not to interrupt.

"That's what we bring. Not just a chance to go back and do the exact same thing they did years ago in some strained effort to recapture their lost youth. That's not what our customers want."

"Actually, according to our market research that kind of is," Great remarked.

Steve waved this away. "We give them experiences they can't possibly describe in some survey."

"Of course they can't describe them," Bentley replied. "They're so convoluted they probably have no idea what it was they experienced. What kind of adventure sends people to work in electronics stores?"

"Regardless of the guests' comment cards," Beckman spoke up, "we need to make sure we are showing better profit margins. Our parent company can't carry us any longer. So unless you have some brilliant new idea…"

"Oh, I do."

"You do?" Beckman asked Steve skeptically.

"I do. Something I've been working on. And it's been in the works for a while." Steve stood up and slowly walked to the front of the room, clearly enjoying the feeling of everyone watching him. "And I can present it to you in just a few days."

"You seem very confident."

Steve nodded. "I know you will be very impressed. And if not, I won't stand in your way. You can have your De Ja Vu Worlds, or whatever you want to call them. But that's assuming you even remember them after you see what I have prepared." He smirked briefly and walked out the door.

The rest of the meeting attendees stood up and began milling about, talking quietly to each other. Ellie saw Beckman approach her. "He sure knows how to make an exit, doesn't he?"

Ellie nodded mutely.

"I suppose you know whatever this new thing is that he has cooked up?"

"No," Ellie replied, honestly. "He hasn't shared anything with me."

"Sounds like him." Beckman patted the younger woman's shoulder. "You know, you're very loyal to him. I admire that. I just hope it isn't misplaced."

Ellie looked curiously at the executive. "What do you mean?"

"You don't think he's been honest with you, have you?" Beckman flashed a smile that almost reached her eyes. "Some time you should look in the old park records. There's a lot you could learn about _Steve's_ time with his old partner." Beckman turned to leave. "Well I guess we have a presentation to get ready for."

* * *

 _One of the challenges with these stories is mapping characters from one show to the other. I didn't want to be a slave to that here, especially because there are way more Westworld characters than ones from Chuck, but to some extent you have to. I was a bit worried that matching Charlotte Hale with Director Jane Bentley (that would be the Robin Givens character from Season 4) is a bit on the nose, demographically speaking, but the two characters serve similar purposes in the two shows, so I decided to go with it anyway._

 _On the other hand, Lee Sizemore and Cole Barker don't really have anything in common, so there probably won't be any British accents in Spyworld._

 _The next chapter will be a bit more action-oriented._


	7. Chapter 7

_Just a reminder, I don't own Chuck. Though I am hard at work on my off-brand reboot "Idle Twentysomething World"_

 **Chapter 7**

"So, this is where your wild party is?"

Charles looked out the Porsche's window skeptically. They had driven small road that wound through circled around the mountains. Finally, the ground became more flat and the road straightened, leading right into a small town. To him, it looked like typical suburbia. So far he had seen several men or women walking their dogs, lawn sprinklers sputtering out water, and what appeared to be at least one quartet of fortysomething dads practicing guitar licks in their garage.

"Hey, it's not like I have an active social life around here," Laszlo protested from the cramped back of the sports car. "So I'll take any party I can get. Even a block party on a cul-de-sac."

Charles was about to respond when something struck him. "Cul-de-sac," he said to himself, then turned to Sarah excitedly. "That has to be it!" he said, still keeping his voice down. "The cul-de-sac!"

"Huh?" Sarah asked confused, briefly taking her eyes off the road to give him a puzzled glance.

"You know, the snake that eats its tail. A cul-de-sac. It must be what the girl meant!"

Sarah had returned her gaze to the road ahead, so Charles barely saw her roll her eyes. It seemed like an awfully sarcastic act for a robot, he thought to himself.

"Even if I did believe that girl was passing you secret codes, Chuck, that seems awfully thin. In any event, we're going to this thing anyway, so it doesn't really matter."

"Turn up here," Laszlo said from the back. As far as Charles could tell, the codebreaker hadn't heard a word of the conversation, which was a relief. Though he wasn't sure if that was because the man couldn't be trusted, or that he would think Charles was nuts too.

When Sarah followed suit, they did indeed find themselves driving down a short cul-de-sac. The house hosting the party was marked with a series of bright-colored balloons tied to the mailbox. Otherwise, it looked exactly the same as every other house on the road, with the same arrangement of flowers sprouting out below the first floor windows, and a front door painted non-threatening blue, right next to the two car garage. Only a few cars surrounded the house, making it appear that most of the guests were from the neighborhood. Or that hardly anyone had showed up for the party.

It became immediately clear when Charles, Sarah and Laszlo walked around to the backyard that this was not the case. Between the raised deck and the swimming pool, the house and grounds were packed. He peered through the back screen door to see several other people were mingling inside the house.

Laszlo immediately disappeared inside, leaving Charles and Sarah to scan the crowd. He immediately recognized one man seated by the pool, sipping on a blue-colored drink. "Excuse me," he said to her then headed over.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, hey, Charles," Morgan said, putting down his mixed drink. "Just relaxing."

"Yeah, but why here? Couldn't you just find a party like this at home?"

Morgan shrugged. "Carina's idea. Remember her?"

Charles nodded, remembering the red-headed robot. "Where is she?"

Morgan shrugged again. "Not really sure. I kind of figured we could each do our own thing here."

Charles glanced around, then finally saw Carina up on the deck, talking to Sarah. This seemed strange to him, but he wasn't too worried. Maybe they were recharging, or uploading information to each other.

"Besides," Morgan said, interrupting Charles' thoughts, "I've got my eye on somebody new." He pointed over at a younger woman seated by the pool, kicking her feet back and forth in the water.

"Isn't she kind of young for you?" Charles asked.

Morgan shrugged yet again. "You mean when she was made? How knows? Now if you'll excuse me, I think I will introduce myself."

Charles watched his friend approach the younger woman and offer her a sip of his drink. He then went over to the deck stairs and climbed up. Carina had now disappeared, leaving Sarah awkwardly talking to someone in a chef's hat by the grill. "And if you want to give your burgers that perfect zing, you've got to add the right amount of cilantro," the man was saying. Charles could see the boredom in her eyes when she looked over to see him. Instinctively, he flashed her a quick smile.

Sarah briefly grinned back at him, then looked behind him with a bit of concern. "Laszlo isn't with you?" she asked.

"He went inside."

"You'd better find him. I don't need him sneaking off, and this is the perfect place for him to get lost."

Charles nodded and headed into the house. The screen door opened up into a living room, occupied by a handful of people taking refuge from the sunshine. Various tacky pieces of art lined the walls and stood on shelves. Most followed a cowboy motif, though there were a few sculptures of lions and tigers mixed in.

Charles mostly ignored the art as he searched the room for Laszlo. He was surprised to see the two men from the Buy More, however, seated on the couch. The younger man, Lester he thought he remembered the man's name to be, was pretending to feed a piece of shrimp to a lion sculpture perched by the sofa.

"Well, if it isn't the spy," Lester said when he saw Charles, whispering the last word with a wink.

"Hey, guys, no more working at the electronics shop?"

"It lost its novelty," Lester replied. "They've got some new management there that's a bit hands-on," he added, rubbing his neck. "And you know, sometimes one just needs a break from not doing anything at work."

"Ok, whatever," Charles responded. He really didn't understand these two. "Have you seen a scraggly looking guy, dark hair?"

Lester shook his head. "Scraggly-looking isn't really the image here. This place basically screams Ivy League junior executives." He turned to the other man. "You see anyone like that, Jeff?"

"Nope."

"Hmm. Well there you go. Now you'll excuse us, we have more important things to do. You go back to saving the world." Lester gestured for Charles to move away and returned to playing with the lion sculpture.

* * *

Charles wandered around the house and backyard, closely examining everything and everyone he saw. He was looking both for the now-disappeared Laszlo, and for any clue why he was supposed to be there. Regardless of what Sarah had said, he knew the ballerina girl had spoken those strange words for a reason, and she had meant for him to be at this party.

He was also beginning to wonder why Sarah was so opposed to the idea. He had found it strange that she had been whispering to that woman Carina earlier. Was there some secret between them? Should he even trust her? He had to admit, if he was the park's adventure writer, he would have thrown in a twist or two, and a betrayal by the fembot fatale CIA Agent would certainly fit that bill.

But the more Charles looked, the less he found. All of the block partiers seemed to be minding their own business, deep in various non-spy-related conversations. He began wondering if he could tell which of them were hosts and which were guests.

Finally, he found a set of stairs leading into a basement, and worked his way downward. Below was what was clearly a man cave. Clearly, no expense had been spared, from the pool table in one corner, to the fully stocked bar behind it, to the gaming system attached to a 70-inch TV at the other end. A large la-z-boy sat in the middle of the room. Charles smiled when he recognized Laszlo seated there.

"So you make a big deal about coming to a party and then you come down here and play games by yourself?"

Laszlo didn't look up. "Eh, just wanted to see if you would bring me. Nice to know I have some leverage."

"Well, you're still going to tell us what that symbol is."

Laszlo briefly looked up and glanced around the room. "Your keeper not here?"

"She's upstairs."

"Good. I'll tell you, but not her."

This wasn't helping Charles' new-found trust issues regarding Sarah. Either way, he didn't feel like negotiating. "Fine."

"Ok, soon as this game's done, I'll come clean."

"Hey." Charles heard steps descending, and tensed up. He then relaxed when he saw that it was just Lester and Jeff. "Awesome cave," the older man said.

"Guitar hero?" Lester said, noting the plastic guitar hanging on the wall. "Perfect, we'll just have to show everyone how things are done. Your time's up, buddy," he said to Laszlo, snatching the game controller from his hand.

"Hey!"

"Alright, Man," Lester said to his friend. "What song should we do?"

"How 'bout we rock some Stones?"

Charles walked over to Laszlo and pulled him aside as the other two began setting up their game. "Alright, tell me what you know," he said quietly.

"Ok, ok," he removed the hand-copied version of the strange image. "Here's what I figured out." He winced as a few opening chords churned through the air. "Oh god, they're doing Paint It Black?"

"Never mind that," Charles hissed. "What does this mean? Is it a map?"

"Kind of, but not in the way you think. You see, it's a…"

A popping sound interrupted the song, and a moment later Laszlo fell over, a small bullet hole in his forehead.

* * *

Charles risked a brief glance back as he dove behind the couch. Two men clad in dark suits had descended the stairs, and were scanning the room with their firearms pointed forward. Several muffled shots popped, and soon the stuffing from the couch was filling the air around the room. Fortunately, the floating foam obscured the agents' vision, and Charles moved to the far end of the room. He tipped over the pool table and knelt beside it.

The room had been quiet other than the plucked guitar chords from the game. Once the table had been move, though, the sound of billiard balls bouncing on the floor roused the agents' attention, and soon another round of bullets flew through the room, bouncing off the pool table. He tensed when he sensed someone beside him. Turning, he saw that it was Lester and Jeff.

"This game isn't supposed to be this violent!" Lester complained quietly. "How am I supposed to relax like this?"

Charles saw the panic in the other man's eyes, and immediately reminded himself that this was all a game. These weren't real bullets; this was all smoke and mirrors. "I have to admit, the special effects are pretty good."

"A little too special, thank you," Jeff muttered. For a moment it was quiet again, and Charles could hear the drums kick in from the recorded version of the Stones song. A moment later, it was interrupted by another round of fire, following the crashing sound, as one bullet hit one of the bottles behind the bar.

"Oh, c'mon!" Lester yelled, looking longingly at the alcohol spilling from the broken bottles. He briefly looked over the table, throwing one of the billiard balls over towards where the men had been. They weren't there any more, and there was a thump as the ball hit the wall and rolled back across the floor. Another few shots rang out from another side of the room, and Charles struggled to hold the pool table up, as the impact of the bullets nearly pushed it down on him.

He knew he wasn't going to be able to stay like this forever. Of course, he wasn't really sure what that really meant. If he was "shot" would his stay be over? Would they just kick him out of the park? Or was he invincible, and all of those pretend bullets would simply keep missing him? He supposed that might be the case, as it seemed pretty consistent with most of the spy movies he'd seen. Still, he wasn't too comfortable with the idea of testing the theory.

If it was a game, Charles decided, he probably shouldn't be cowering behind a pool table. If he was really supposed to be a spy, he should probably act like one. He reached back and grabbed one of the pool cues hanging from the wall.

"What are you doing?" hissed Lester.

"What I'm supposed to be doing," Charles whispered. He crouched down when another round of bullets hit the table. As soon as they stopped he was going to pounce.

Only before he got the chance, a couple of thumps and a cracking sound came from the other end of the room.

* * *

Charles moved back behind the table. As he glanced downward, he saw the body of one of the agents on the ground, his hand releasing its grip on the firearm. A boot-covered foot kicked away the gun. A second later, a large set of hands grabbed the pool table and pushed it aside. He immediately recognized the green shirt and the scowl.

"Ah, Bartowski," Casey said. "There you are."

Briefly noticing Jeff and Lester, he grabbed the two, and shoved their heads together, interrupting a "Not him aga…" from the smaller man.

"Now, about those secrets." Casey grabbed Charles, pushing him down on what was left of the couch. Looking around for something to tie him down with, he grabbed the cords from the Guitar Hero controller and began wrapping them around the frightened guest.

"Hey, not so tight!" Charles protested. His complaints only resulted in an amused grunt.

Not yet satisfied with his work, Casey grabbed some of the power cords from the game console, interrupting the last strains of Paint It Black. The large host used the cords to fasten Charles more securely and then nodded in satisfaction.

"Now, where were we?"

Charles wasn't really sure what to say next. It wasn't as if he knew what was going on. The only thing he'd managed to figure out so far this evening was that no one should trust eight-year-old ballerinas. He glanced over at the lifeless body of Laszlo. "You know, you probably should have come a few minutes earlier. That guy was going to tell me something, and it was probably the exact thing you want to know."

Casey grunted. "Quit stalling. You and I both know you have everything I need in that little brain of yours. Now, do I need to drill a hole in there for them to spill out?"

"I…" Chuck paused when he heard footsteps coming down the steps. He hoped that they belonged to Sarah.

They didn't, but he did recognize the new arrival. "Hey Chuck, you ok down here? Oh, I see you've got something going on." Morgan raised an eyebrow.

The bearded man wasn't alone. His hand was interlocked with a young girl. Charles recognized her as the girl from the pool.

"Dad?" the girl asked. "What are you doing?"

Casey looked over in annoyance at the bearded man, then his face set into a dark scowl when he saw his companion. "What are you doing with my daughter?"

"Ok, well I probably should have seen that twist coming." Morgan pulled the girl's hand. "C'mon Alex. Maybe we should find someplace a bit more private." They quickly darted up the stairs, with the angry Casey right on their heels.

Charles breathed a sigh of relief. The room was quiet for the moment. Lester and Jeff were still knocked out cold, while the Fulcrum agents and Laszlo clearly weren't going anywhere.

Unfortunately, neither was he. Casey had tied the cords too tightly for him to wriggle free.

"Chuck?"

Charles looked up from his struggles to see Sarah race into the man cave. She quickly surveyed the room, seeing the bodies on the ground, before racing over to him.

"I'm sorry Sarah, Laszlo's dead."

"That's ok, Chuck," Sarah said as she examined Charles, making sure he was ok. "You're safe."

Charles could see the concern in Sarah's eyes as she studied him. It seemed so….human. He struggled for what to say as she untied the cords and let him free. "Sarah…"

"C'mon Chuck, we have to get out of here." She took his hand and let him up the stairs.

"What about Fulcrum? Are there more agents up there?"

"Actually, it's the Ring."

"Who?"

"Oh, they replaced Fulcrum now."

"But they're still the bad guys, right?"

"Of course."

Charles shook his head. This all seemed very confusing.

As soon as they reached the top of the stairs, Charles saw more of the dark-clad agents, whether from Fulcrum or the Ring he wasn't sure, attack. Sarah switched to whirling dervish mode, diving onto the kitchen counter, extending a leg to knock out enemies left and right. Before he could blink, most of the attackers were down on the floor. "C'mon!" Sarah yelled.

Charles tried to ignore the bodies lying in the living room as he rushed onto the deck. He winced as he saw the burger chef now face down on the grill. Even if it was a host, that seemed like a rough way to go. With or without cilantro.

They ran through the open screen door, and into the darkness of late evening. They rushed past the pool and headed to the front of the house towards where they'd parked. Before they could get to the front, a couple of Ring agents appeared from the bushes. "Go!" Sarah yelled as she fought them off. Reluctantly, Charles did as he was told.

He thought he might actually get away until a large figure appeared in front of him. "There you are, Bartowski," Casey said, standing in his way.

"I'm sorry our little session was interrupted," the large host continued. "I'm still learning to handle having a grown daughter. I have to learn to trust her to make her own decisions. Even if I don't approve of them. Especially when it comes to who she dates."

"She could probably do better," Charles admitted. He hoped that Morgan was ok, but this wasn't really the time to argue about his prospects.

Casey grunted. "Fortunately, I now have some unresolved anger I need to work out. Lucky for me." He moved slowly towards Charles.

There was a quick blur of movement, and suddenly Sarah was there. "Don't you touch him!"

The next few minutes was a whirl of motion. Sarah matched Casey blow for blow, while Charles watched in amazement. The amount of programming this must have taken to get the two hosts to spar like this must have been very painstaking. He winced briefly when Casey grabbed Sarah's neck, but then one long leg connected with a knee and the male robot was on the ground.

Her high-heeled boot connected with his face, and Casey either let out a groan, or his vocal cords short circuited. Charles didn't care which.

They continued to the front yard, and finally the street lights gave some mild illumination. Seeing the car nearby, Charles turned to Sarah. "My God, that was amazing!"

Sarah's face showed another mixture of concern and relief. "We have to get going, Chuck. I don't think we're going to find what we need here."

"Sarah," Charles moved towards the host. He now felt stupid about his earlier mistrust for her. His feelings had been a jumble the last few days, but they were now starting to feel clear. Seeing the concern on her face when she had looked at him in the man cave, nothing could have been more human, Even if she wasn't, he realized that he didn't care any more about what she was. "I know this is…weird and all. You being what you are, but I just have to tell you how I feel."

Sarah had pressed the key fob to unlock the car door, but then had turned to look at Sarah as he spoke. As he continued, her face fell. "Chuck…"

Charles saw her expression, but pushed on undeterred. "No, Sarah, I get it. It's not really what's supposed to happen here. I mean, I guess it kind of is, but this is way more than that. It's not just some temporary thing."

"Chuck, please!"

Realizing he'd been rambling, Charles paused, gathering his thoughts. Then he started again.

"No please, Sarah, let me finish. Seeing you, everything about you, there's something real there. And I can't deny it." He moved closer till he was only a foot away from her. "Sarah, I lo…"

"Chuck," Sarah interrupted again, taking a step back. He moved a step closer to her, until she spoke again.

"Freeze all motor functions."

Charles stopped in his tracks, unable to move.

* * *

 _So I guess now is a good time to remind folks to please comment about how they think the story's going…_


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry I'm taking a long time between updates. Hopefully things will speed up a bit now._

 _Also, I don't own 'Chuck' or anything else referenced in this chapter._

 **Chapter 8**

The good news was, she had been provided with instructions. The update Sarah had sent to her superiors had been responded to quickly. Apparently her description of the attack, and the subsequent loss of an asset, had gotten their attention.

The bad news was that the instructions weren't exactly clear. At least to her. It would have helped if her knowledge of movie trivia had been greater. The cryptic message she'd received had told her to look for signs for an old 1980s science fiction film. She could only think of ET and Star Wars, and she hadn't seen any flying bicycles or people waving around lightsabers anywhere in the park.

Sarah looked over at the still form slumped down in the Porsche's passenger seat. He…it...probably would have been able to figure it out. She shook her head. She still had trouble thinking of Chuck as an it. That the slightly geeky wannabe spy was actually a robot. She turned away, forcing her eyes back to the road. The longer she looked at him, the more she felt for his plight, as crazy as that was.

She had been struggling with this all night, since she had escaped the cul-de-sac carnage. She still wasn't sure what it had all meant. But she was now certain that Chuck Bartowski was important in some way.

Her bosses had agreed with her, which is why she was now looking for any evidence that her pop culture-limited brain would recognize. In addition to the where, her instructions had been thin on the 'what' and the 'why' as well. So she had no idea what she was supposed to do with Chuck when she did find this secret place.

As long as it wasn't going to involve taking him apart. He might not be human, but he didn't deserve that. And she definitely didn't want to do anything like that to him.

Finally, while driving through another stretch of nothingness, she noticed a large sign on the horizon, blinking the name 'Tron.' While she had no idea what that meant exactly, the large empty parking lot and white screen at the end of it seemed to imply it was a drive-in theatre of some sort. It seemed too strange to be a coincidence. So, even if the name Tron had absolutely nothing to do with 1980s science fiction, it still seemed like a gamble worth taking. She turned her car into the lot, removed her cargo, and had a look around.

Sure enough, there was a hatch behind the movie screen. She managed to open it and found a ladder leading downward. She descended, struggling to hold onto the lifeless host, and after several long minutes, managed to reach the bottom.

Sarah found herself in what appeared to be a laboratory. One that had long been abandoned, and with equipment that was well overdue for an upgrade. Several old computer terminals stood upon old tables lining the walls. Old notebooks were scattered around the tables and floor. She tried leafing through one but couldn't understand any of the notes.

At one end of the room, there was an empty cot that was large enough for her to place Chuck down. She did so, rubbing her arms in relief afterwards. Whatever he was made from, he certainly felt real, which meant he wasn't exactly light. Then she headed over to the only doorway in the room, seeing a flickering light at the other end.

The second room was slightly neater than the other, with only a few stray papers on the floor showing evidence of its neglected state. A round table stood in the middle, with two chairs surrounding it. One of them was occupied.

* * *

Ellie wiped the sweat from her forehead. It had been a busy morning. The altercation at the cul-de-sac had resulted in a lot of damage to a lot of hosts, and she had been leading the response team charged with the repairs. She'd watched as the bodies – a strange combination of suit-clad secret agents and Hawaiian shirt clad bystanders – had been retrieved and carted off to the storage facility. As far as she could tell, no guests had been hurt, which was good. She had heard a rumor of one fatality, but fortunately there hadn't been any evidence of this, lucky for the park.

Whether all of this was part of the park's regular script or part of her boss's new one, Ellie had no idea. She had long ago given up on following the plot lines. It was always some nefarious organization pursuing a lone hero for some reason or other. It always seemed somewhat pointless to her. Most of the guests were mainly interested in getting the girl (or boy), and the rest was just window dressing.

She thought back to her boss's grand pronouncement. If the events of the prior night were any sign, then it did seem to be an elaborate story line. Whether NBC's top brass would be impressed by it, she had no idea.

Ellie also considered what Beckman had told her. When she had first arrived at the office, she had tried to go through company files to see if there was any information regarding her boss' old partner. But if Beckman was telling the truth, there was no record of him. It seemed puzzling – why would she tell a lie if it was so easily disproven. But her chance to look a little deeper had been interrupted when the call had come in about the party.

And it didn't seem like she would have any more time today. She finished the diagnostic check of the Agent she had been checking, nodded her head, and went into the next room to see who was next.

When she saw who it was, she sighed.

"Oh, not this one again."

* * *

"I see you finally found it," Carina said, looking up. "Sure took you long enough." She stood up from the chair and quickly embraced Sarah.

"Well, the instructions weren't exactly clear," Sarah replied, sitting down in the other chair.

Carina chose not to sit back down at the table, but instead sat atop one of desks, her long legs dangling over the side. In response to Sarah, she shrugged. "Tron, right?"

Sarah didn't respond. Apparently her old friend was more of a movie buff than she was. "So, what is this place?"

"Looks like some sort of R&D facility from before the park opened. There's probably a whole bunch of these hidden away in this place. So, did you bring him?"

Sarah nodded. "He's in there," she pointed to the other room.

"And you're sure he's the one?"

"I am."

Carina nodded. "Well, you're probably right. It's supposed to be one of the Buy More hosts, right, and I can safely say it's not the little one."

"So you checked him out thoroughly, huh?" Sarah raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, I was very thorough."

"And?"

"Carina shrugged. "I've had better. But not many."

"Ugh," Sarah shuddered. "But he's a…"

"Hey, if you can't tell the difference, does it really matter?"

"Yes!"

Carina rolled her eyes. "You're no fun Walker, you know that?" She hopped off of the desk. "So what did you do with your boy, if you weren't properly inspecting him?"

"My job, Carina. What I'm supposed to be doing."

"Ok then, Miss CIA Employee of the Month. Did you actually get anything from him?" Carina opened the desk drawers, frowning slightly when she found each one empty.

"You mean, about the symbol? No," Sarah shook her head. "It didn't seem to trigger anything in him."

"So, you think our intel was wrong?"

"No. Laszlo definitely recognized it. I think he was supposed to meet his contact last night, probably to let them know we're onto them."

"Yeah, that didn't go too well for him." Carina shoved the last desk drawer closed. "Knew we never should have stationed him here. Shady bastard. Any idea who he was supposed to meet?"

"Not a clue. That place was a mess. Between all of those agents, and that Casey thing. Honestly I couldn't tell who was a robot and who wasn't. Not that it matters. They could program these things to pass along messages to each other. I told you about that ballerina girl, right?"

"Weird. So, your boy didn't act weird at all?"

"No." Sarah decided to keep the prior night's scene to herself. "He seems to think he's human and I'm a robot, which is pretty weird."

"Well, mine was doing that too. Not sure he ever realized he was supposed to be the sidekick though. Guess they programmed him to be oblivious. Now," Carina announced, moving toward the other room, "how about we go in there and see how oblivious your boyfriend really is."

* * *

Ellie sighed as she studied the motionless form of the host in front of her. According to the report from last night, John Casey had once again gone rogue, leaving a trail of destruction and damage in his wake. Fortunately, he hadn't hurt any guests this time, only hosts. Most of the hosts he'd attacked had been Fulcrum agents. Or was it Ring agents? She had only skimmed the memo about the recent Spyworld plot changes, so she had no idea which was which.

There definitely hadn't been a memo regarding her boss's recent changes, so she had no idea whether Casey's actions the previous night were intentional or not. But she knew she had better find out.

"Bring yourself back online, John." Casey's eyes flickered annoyance, and grunted at the sight of Ellie. "Analysis mode." Casey's drooped head popped upward and stared blankly at Ellie.

"Why did you attack those agents last night?" Ellie asked.

"Orders," the host's voice lacked the usual snide tone.

"Whose orders?"

"That's on a need-to-know, Ma'am."

"I assure you that I have all proper clearance," Ellie replied. She wasn't sure why the host was still in his Spyworld role. That wasn't supposed to happen in analysis mode.

"Not as far as I can tell, Ma'am," Casey shook his head. "My mission is top secret, for top level ears only."

"I promise you, Casey, I know all about Fulcrum…er, the Ring."

"Don't know anything about that."

Strange, Ellie thought to herself. Unless he was confused by all of the different evil organization too, Casey apparently wasn't stuck in Spyworld mode after all. She decided to try another approach. "Do you have any other orders?"

"I must retrieve the host Bartowski."

Now she was onto something. She switched from her tablet's diagnostic app to find the Spyworld background information. She did a quick check through the list of hosts, but couldn't find anything. No mention of a Bartowski anywhere. "And did these orders come from the same place?"

Casey did not answer.

It was possible that Bartowski was a new character. She was always told about new or repurposed hosts, though, and she had never heard of a 'Bartowski.' Was this part of her boss's secret new story? If it was, he was blocking it from her, and he'd never done that before.

Clearly, she needed to go back further. As far back as she could. "Safe mode, please?"

The host went completely still. He sat for a moment, before finally saying, "Now entering safe mode," in a monotone voice. "What would you like to do?"

"Return to a previous restore point."

Casey remained frozen for about thirty seconds. Then his face took on a scowl. "You know what the chain of command is? It's the chain I go get and beat you with 'til you understand who's in ruttin' command here. Now we're finishing this deal. And then maybe—maybe—we'll come back for those morons who got themselves caught. You can't change that by gettin' all… bendy."

Ok, Ellie thought to herself, maybe she had gone back to far. This was clearly the host's role from a prior park. She flipped through the diagnostics on her tablet, trying to find a different point to check. She tried another one.

Casey's scowl stayed in place. "Ten percent of nothing is, let me do the math here, nothing into nothing, carry the nothin'..."

Ellie's brow furrowed as she tried another restore point, and got nowhere. Finally, out of frustration more than anything else, she closed her eyes and randomly pressed a spot on the tablet.

"The intersect must be protected at all costs." Ellie opened her eyes again. She had expected to find someone else in the room, but it was still only her and Casey. The host's expression was still completely blank, but the tone of voice was different from the usual growling, or the blank monotone of the safe mode setting. In fact, it sounded as if an entirely different person was speaking.

"The intersect must be protected at all costs," he repeated. "It must be brought to find Orion. Everything depends on this." As Ellie watched in confusion, the host leaned in towards her. She could almost see a look of pleading in its eyes.

"The intersect must be brought to Orion." After that, the robot shut down completely.


End file.
